by Chris Ward
I look no different to any she thought, it is as if I were back on the streets of Wildwood. I am glad to be rid of the gown and the veil. I can never go back to it. No matter what comes, I will not...
After some time of wandering and absorbing the town by way of her new commonness and the snatches of conversations and moods which filled the air about her, she came to a darker place on the edge of the town where few seemed out, and without warning she sensed a strange new vulnerability. No sooner had this realisation come to her than suddenly there before her, as if materialising from the cold night itself, was a large dishevelled man whose drunken breath was clear upon the air.
‘Hello my beaudy,’ he slurred, blocking her way. ‘You would like have a drink wiv me and my friend?’
Sylvion felt no fear for she had supreme confidence in her ability to defeat any man or beast who might seek to cross her. She stood and observed her antagonist. He was a country man clear enough with a large and powerful body gone soft in the middle from too much ale. He swayed as he stood and his eyes struggled to focus.
‘You are drunk,’ Sylvion spoke firmly, ‘and I have no wish to do as you say, with you or any of your friends. Move aside and let me pass for I mean you no harm.’ At this the man laughed.
‘You mean me no arm, I like sat... you mean me no arm.’ He took one step forward towards Sylvion who far more quickly stepped back...right into the arms of another man who had come up from behind. Immediately her arms were trapped by her side and she found she could not break free of his hold.
‘Release me you fool,’ she hissed, feeling her anger rise, ‘you do not know with whom you meddle.’ Sylvion twisted quickly and brought her knee up into her captor’s thigh which was as high as she could reach, for he was an even larger man than the first who had confronted her. He grunted in pain, swore foully, but did not relax his grip. Suddenly Sylvion realised she could not use the Shadow Blade, and her own strength was no match for the two who sought to assault her. She changed tactics, her mind thinking quickly, trying to anticipate what they might want.
‘I have money you thieves if that is what you want. Release me and I will give you all I have...’
‘We wun no money lass. Is you we would like.’ The first drunk could not conceal his excitement. ‘Lez get ‘er in the lane Jorg,’ he said and Sylvion’s captor dragged her easily to the side of the street and up against the old wooden wall of a house. Sylvion felt her panic rise for the first time in a lifetime. She knew that if she was unable to break free she would most likely end up beaten, robbed and worse; and perhaps even lose the Shadow Blade. This last thought prompted her to struggle viciously, twisting and turning and kicking so furiously that the man who held her was almost overcome. The drunken man laughed in pleasure at seeing her struggle.
‘Oh Jorg she is a one, dis beaudy!’ he cried in delight. Jorg finally took one hand away and smacked Sylvion hard across the face; so hard that she buckled at the knees, stunned beyond belief. ‘I fink you need my elp Jorg,’ the drunk continued but just as he went to lurch in the direction of Sylvion and her foul tormentor a look of incredulity transformed his face. He looked down and there as if by magic an arrow had appeared in his upper left leg. It went in one side and protruded clear out the other. The pain did not come immediately for his fogged mind did not quickly allow him such a response. He collapsed with a grunt and squinted at the arrow. He noticed that it had no feathers and that his blood was spilling quickly onto the ground around him.
‘I is shot Jorg,’ he said in a whisper of disbelief. ‘Sumbodies sot me.’
Sylvion looked about and her heart jumped in relief for there, standing not twenty paces off on the far side of the street was Rema. He held his bow easily in his left hand and the look upon his face spoke of a great anger. For a moment no one moved or said a thing, then the drunk began to moan.
‘I is dying Jorg, I dus no wannoo die.’
Rema moved quickly to the downed man, ignoring for a moment Sylvion held fast in the arms of the other man who watched in confused horror at what unfolded. Rema reached down and took the arrowhead end of the shaft. With one clean jerk he drew the arrow clean through the leg. The drunk screamed once and grabbed at his wound. Rema took a step back and wiped the arrow on his tunic as Sylvion suddenly felt cold steel at her neck and she shivered.
Rema turned to them and spoke clearly so that he would understand. ‘Release the woman now, and I will spare you.’ He drew, using the same arrow which had downed the other, and aimed it at the man holding Sylvion who was however not about to give up his prize.
‘We can share her my friend, no need for this. What say you to that?’ he offered, but his voice was full of panic.
‘You take a liberty calling me a friend, you dog,’ Rema returned evenly, and then, without averting his eyes from the man, he spoke to the drunk on the ground who shook with the pain of his damaged leg. ‘You will have two outcomes from this you fool. Your leg will come off and you may live, or it will stay and get infected in which case you will die.’ He paused before adding, ‘horribly.’ The wounded man let out a moan of fear, but Rema ignored him, turning his attention back to the man holding Sylvion.
‘I will count to three and then I will shoot you,’ he hissed, but once more the man seemed to feel he had the upper hand.
‘If you do, you shoot her as well, and my knife is closer to her neck than your arrow will ever be to me.’
‘One,’ Rema said coldly.
‘And you could not even shoot Gregor properly. A leg-shot from twenty paces, you are no archer with your silly bow. You will kill the woman before me...’
‘I shot him in the leg because I aimed for his leg,’ Rema said in a harsh whisper, and Sylvion knew he was ready to fire. She felt no fear for she had seen his skill; instead she kept quite still and hoped that steel against her throat would not go deeper. ‘Two,’ came Rema’s count.
‘You wouldn’t dare risk her...’
The arrow was invisible in its flight but it ripped down the side of Jorg’s face opening a wound right to the bone. It tore through his right ear and embedded itself in the timber of the house behind him, effectively pinning him to the wall. The pain was searing and with a scream he dropped the knife and reached for his face believing himself mortally wounded for blood poured down his face. Sylvion needed no further chance and in an instant she had twisted free and the Shadow Blade was suddenly in her hand, her anger white hot, her resolve unspoken but as set as the arrow’s path which released her. The Blade glowed.
‘No!’ Rema commanded. ‘No Sylvion you must not.’ And she understood in time to turn away, allowing the deadly blade to glance lightly off the man’s undamaged cheek, causing no more than a scratch which bled freely nonetheless. ‘It is over Sylvion,’ Rema said firmly, and your identity remains concealed. If you use the blade, all will know, and that is not your purpose at this time.’ They looked at each other and Sylvion knew he spoke truly. She nodded but found herself beyond speech at that moment.
‘These two will live,’ Rema said, and went to retrieve the arrow for a second time. Jorg cringed at his approach, crying out in pain as his ear was roughly released from the wall, and then he slumped down on the street with his drunken friend and watched the two walk off; the beautiful young woman for whom his desire had so brought him to ruin, and the cold archer whose skill was either luck or something else beyond belief.
‘You fool Gregor,’ he moaned, ‘this is all your fault,’ but the other man had fainted from his wound.
‘Are you alright?’ Rema asked as they walked. It took Sylvion some time to respond for her emotions were many and they clouded her thoughts.
‘I am angry Rema,’ she said finally.
‘A simple thank you would be sufficient,’ Rema replied deliberately showing his hurt.
‘I am thankful Rema. You saved me from a desperate situation.’ And Sylvion reached over and squeezed his arm in genuine affection. Rema was surprised at the strength of his reaction
and he was unable to hide it from Sylvion who realised that they were treading on new ground; ground she was not sure of and wished for the present to avoid.
‘I am angry at myself,’ she continued quickly, ‘I have never been in such a predicament, and all because I was not careful. I did not think of being unable to use the Shadow Blade, it has always been there; but one drunken fool and I was just a weak woman at the mercy of their lust.’ She hit her side with a hand in frustration.
‘Just as well I happened along then,’ Rema said quietly, and there was silence for a short time.
‘Why were you following me?’ Sylvion asked trying hard not to sound accusing.
‘I was not. It was by good fortune or some higher hand that led me to you. I found the Inn somewhat stifling and wished to....’ Rema suddenly found he did not have the words for the truth was clear, he wanted to be with Sylvion, and he could not easily tell her then. Net yet. Perhaps never.
‘Well I am grateful you had some cause,’ Sylvion responded warmly for she guessed his mind and in truth as they walked together in that moment she could not help but remember long before when she had walked this way with her Rema. She remembered how he used to make her feel, safe and happy, and at that moment she thought she could see no difference; then or now.
I will not allow this to happen. It cannot, she thought, but in her heart there was a yearning, and it was hard to ignore.
They rode out of Sheldon the next day in the same formation, but with some apprehension for the inn keeper had told them that the Snake River to the north had flooded its valley all the way to its junction with the Vigarn, and this could only mean one thing; the land had sunk preventing the flow. No one had crossed the Snake River since the sinking which had occurred almost imperceptibly over many days. The land had groaned and many houses in Sheldon now bore cracks but it had passed with no more than that. The people watched them ride out; those that were about. They stood in silence and seemed to judge them harshly, so Sylvion thought, and Rema believed that word perhaps had spread about the events of the previous night, by rumour or false tale. In any event it seemed to the group that they were not welcome in Sheldon and the townsfolk were glad to be rid of them.
‘I see many with the mark of Gryfnor,’ Germayne said as they rode and Rema saw that she was right. And then on the outskirts of the town, where the farming land began to run away in all directions across the flat land, in a field of green and fresh mown grass they saw the familiar coloured tent which marked the magician’s camp. They stopped and gazed upon it from a distance.
‘He must have left Ramos before we did,’ Sylvion said with a frown.
‘Then he has the fastest horse and cart in Revelyn,’ Germayne replied, ‘for we did not spare the horses in our trip.’
‘He travels all over Revelyn, we know this,’ Sylvion continued, ‘and visits Sheldon often I am told, but his appearance here so soon is strange indeed.’
The small tent stood alone. No one seemed about but the familiar horse and cart were nearby and there was fresh evidence of footprints in the muddy road on which they passed to show that the magician had visitors in the night.
‘Well if he can bring these sad people happiness then I will not stand against it,’ Sylvion said at last, breaking the spell of silent contemplation, and as she spurred her horse on they all followed in a similar fashion and soon the leagues began to fall behind them. They talked little that morning, but Rema thought much upon his dealings with Sylvion the night before, and she too found her mind return to it often enough. At noon they rode over a ridge and suddenly there before them was a wide lake into which the road they travelled upon disappeared, but a stone’s throw further on.
‘The Innkeeper spoke truly,’ Germayne whispered, ‘the Snake River is now a lake and I judge it a league across at this point.’
‘We will not be going further on this road,’ Sylvion added sombrely. She stood up in her stirrups and looked up and down the valley now filled with water in each direction. ‘The land has sunk mightily here, and much good farmland has been lost.’
‘Perhaps this explains the mood in Sheldon,’ Rema offered, and they all shook their heads in disbelief that such a thing so far from the sea had come to pass, save Orcxyl who sat behind unnoticed. His eyes were narrowed and his mind was suddenly full of dark thoughts.
You do not fool me Sylvion Queen of Revelyn. This is but an excuse for you to further demand the sacrifice of the innocent. The others may not see it but I know what you do. Freya’s blood is on your hands... and he found he had to fight to prevent himself from raising his bow and attempting the fulfilment of his dreadful vow that very moment. But something made him pause; something for which he had no words. Be calm he thought earnestly, the time will come, and you will get one chance. Wait. Just wait and bide the time.
They turned east and rode along the ridges of the undulating land following the lake until near nightfall they discovered its end where the Snake River emerged once more to flow onward to its junction with the Vigarn. They camped there in the open oak forest where the two rivers met, exhausted by the long day and the harder riding over the open ground. Rema shot a small deer before the sun set and the smell of it cooking over the fire restored their spirits, but not as much as the taste of it for it was a most tender meat.
Andes disappeared after the meal and was gone a long time. Long enough for Sylvion to comment half in jest half in concern, ‘I hope Andes has not had some accident walking about in the dark, should we search for him?’ They had discussed the matter briefly but suddenly the giant man appeared looking a little sheepish and reassured them that he was just enjoying being alone by the river. He went and lay upon his simple fern bed and pulled two blankets over himself and was asleep without further talk to any. Rema was greatly puzzled at his friend’s behaviour and could only think he was missing his Fryn and had gone off to think of her where others would not intrude. Only Germayne guessed the reason. She had glimpsed a mark upon his forehead that day when once his long fringe had blown to the side when riding. You have been to Gryfnor she thought immediately, it is not a wise thing you have done Andes, but I do not judge you, for perhaps the Diabule offers memories of your woman. She had thought on this for a time, wondering what it might be like to embrace this strange joy, before once more looking at the great man riding easily alongside Rema. You are such an attractive man Andes Blomberg she thought once more...but your secret is safe with me. I will watch out for you.
The others were soon asleep Andes was, for the day had tired them all and Sylvion had informed them that they would cross the Vigarn the following day and ride out onto the Plains of Amrosi and thereafter by a north east route to Fellonshead.
‘It is not an easy place to cross, this desert of grass,’ Gravyn had said sombrely but as usual with no noticeable emotion. ‘We lost twenty men there ten winters ago. You will remember that My Lady.’ Sylvion had nodded.
‘Indeed it was a hard thing Gravyn,’ and she continued to explain to the others. ‘They were sent to the Rosi people to inquire about an ancient mine said to be the work of some who lived in the land long before even the ancient Ravelin. It was a gold mine and the tales spoken of it told of nuggets the size of melons.’
‘But they were never heard of again.’ Gravyn continued poking the fire with a stick, ‘And no one has seen the Rosi people to this day. I would counsel we skirt by these grasslands My Lady and follow the river. It will take us an extra day but we will not get lost.’ Gravyn gave what seemed like sound advice but Sylvion overruled him.
‘We must make the best time we can for I must be in Fellonshead at the earliest possible opportunity.’ She had paused. ‘I know you will have questions. I cannot answer them yet, but I am sure we will pass through the Plains in safety.’ And that was the end of the matter and indeed all were too tired to make an issue of what seemed then to be a small thing. Orcxyl lay awake for a long time, and considered these mysterious grasslands which they would endure the nex
t day, and some deep emotion brought his own lost lands to his thoughts and for the first time since he had wept over the loss of Freya, his face was wet with tears. And he fell asleep confused and mightily troubled.
The crossing of the Vigarn did not go without mishap for the current was exceedingly strong and cold. The horses were willing swimmers and each held fast to their mounts, but Gravyn lost his grip where the wild water tossed him hard against some underwater boulder and only by the quick action of Andes was he saved and dragged gasping onto the opposite bank. A fire was quickly made and soon they were all dry and warm once more, but each was reminded that they were all just one small slip from sudden death and great care was demanded at all times to avoid such an end. When Gravyn had recovered he thanked Andes with few words but went and grasped his hand and with a nod gave acknowledgement for the giant’s mighty effort and personal risk in dragging him to safety.
‘I do not swim well,’ was all he said somewhat gruffly, but none judged him for that lack.
They rode through a beautiful forest of elder and oak, full of life and bird song, and for a short time it seemed to them all, that thoughts of evil and fell things afoot in Revelyn were but dreams. And then they emerged into a land of sweeping sky and waving grasses which came to saddle height in many places. The sound of the wind in the grass was eerily seductive and they were entranced by the magnificent moving patterns which the bending stalks made as the wind rushed across the hillsides and valleys about them. There was little enough to guide them, no high points or trees and immediately it was clear that without great care they might ride in circles for days.
‘We can use the sun,’ Rema suggested, ‘It moves in an arc from east to west and if we allow for this and keep it in the right place we should not travel too far from a straight line.’ But Sylvion shook her head.
